Horizon Ridge Angels Writ, Devils Drought

solharr stood quiet among the gathered, his broad form casting shadow in the morning light. the lowlands still smelled of snowmelt and stirring earth, but it was the tension that filled the air—tight as drawn bowstrings—that held his focus.

he met kukutux’s gaze. he gave her a single nod.

to ipiktok, to arrluk, to the rest, he said nothing at first. only his eye roved over them—measured, calm, commanding. then, with the voice of a war-chief tempered by sorrow and fire:

we leave now.

his tone brooked no question.

one post!